Nekamakaze 99th
by Brunetta6
Summary: They said they wouldn't let him sleep... but Sanji didn't come back to Sabaody with bags under his eyes, did he? A series of chronological shorts revealing a behind-the-scenes look at the timeskip of Kamabakka Queendom, featuring our favorite Strawhat cook's unlikely newkama ally – the young man in fuchsia, Hilaire! (No actual yaoi, sorry girls.)
1. Cabin in the Woods

**It was a plot bunny, I couldn't resist, I hope it gets prospers and receives lots of reviews, and I REGRET NOTHING! Yes, I take prompts, questions, and requests.**

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**Chapter 1:**

**Cabin in the Woods**

_Splash!_

Sanji tore through the dripping pink forest of the Kamabakka Queendom on Momoiro Island, where even the storm clouds were a dark shade of fuchsia as he fled from his dress-clad, hairy-legged pursuers in the pouring rain. It had been two weeks since he'd accepted the challenge to steal the 99 Vital Recipes from the Newkama Kempo Grand Masters…

And he was getting shitty _nowhere_!

The Strawhat cook ducked under a branch and stumbled over a heart-shaped rock, lungs heaving for air. He hadn't eaten in ten days. The only thing he had drunk was the rainwater that pooled around the roots of the trees. And for two whole weeks… sleep had been a dream sweet and unattainable as being cradled at a woman's breast. His body cried out at him to stop! To rest! But they were always right behind him! No matter where he went or how fast he ran – even in this isolated pink valley in the middle of nowhere – escape was impossible.

The blonde staggered against a tree and coughed violently into his palm. He cringed when he pulled it away, tasting blood. Sanji wasn't a normal man… but he was still human.

"_Sanji-kun_~!"

Hearing those dreaded voices echoing through the forest, he pushed off the trunk and stumbled forward, his legs shaking with exhaustion.

At this rate, his body was going to burn out before even a month was up.

Suddenly, Sanji's foot slipped in the mud. The cook yelped in surprise, falling hard on his rear and sliding fast down the slick slope. He tried to protect his head, but it was useless. Rocks tore into his skin. Branches whipped at him, opening stinging cuts in his face and hands.

Finally, he hit the bottom with a teeth-jarring impact. WHAM!

Sanji cried out as he went flying – then smacked the ground shoulder-first. He felt more than heard something break, its gristly _pop_ vibrating inside his inner ear.

The blonde screamed in pain. "_GUAH_!"

He slid a good ways across the dripping pink grass, before finally grinding to a stop.

For what felt like a long time, Sanji just lay there… rain pattering in his hair, gasping for air as his abused body shrieked and burned from the countless bruises, scrapes, and cuts. Curling over his shoulder, the Strawhat cook realized it had to be dislocated to hurt this much. "Dammit…_ DAMMIT!_"

He pounded his good fist into the ground, almost crying with the pain and frustration. "I'm tired, dammit…!" he swore quietly, hot tears mixing with the cold raindrops on his cheeks. "It's freezing… it _hurts_…!"

Suddenly, light shone in his peripherals.

Sanji blinked – and slowly looked up.

In his darkening vision, a small cabin shone through the rain about a hundred feet away from where he was laying, beckoning him with its warm, welcoming windows. Fragrant smoke wafted up from three brick chimneys, smelling of flowers and cooking food.

It didn't occur to Sanji to think about who – or _what_ – lived all the way out here. He was only aware of one thing through his fading consciousness.

_There had to be a bed in there._

Moving as if he were in a trance, Sanji got to his feet, careful to cradle his bad arm as he moved zombie-like across the clearing. Space didn't seem to work the same way. One second he was a hundred feet away, the next he was opening the door, relieved to find it was unlocked, not surprised. Walking down a hallway. The last thing he remembered was falling into the softest, fluffiest, most heavenly bed he had ever seen… and then everything went black.

**.oOo.**

The next thing Sanji was aware of was sunlight streaming in through the window.

He bolted upright, throwing the covers off him in a panic – then immediately cringed and shielded his face when his pupils contracted painfully. W_-Where am I?! What –?!_

Then he remembered the rain. The cabin. This bed.

_Oh._ _Right._

Sanji rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up while he took a look around. He hadn't gotten to see much when he came in – being half-conscious did that to a guy – but now, the cook saw that although there weren't as many hearts as he was expecting, and the design was rather plain… this was indeed a very _pink_ bedroom. The walls were painted pale pink with white crown molding. Tables crowded all four corners of the room, laden with a rainbow kaleidoscope of lamps, unlit scented candles, and colored glass bottles filled with fragrant liquids. Several mirrors hung on the walls, framed in ornate brass or dark pink wood. The carpet and throw rugs were shades of pink, too. Glancing down, Sanji saw that his pillowy comforter was made of heavy carmine silk; an unusually dark shade of the feminine color.

"Little too much pink for me, but it's really not that bad," Sanji murmured to himself.

The blonde yawned, reaching up to scratch his head. "And I'm not wearing that damn sweets dress! Maybe I lucked out and the okama who lives here hasn't come back yet –!"

Suddenly, he felt something weird on his head.

Sanji blinked.

"…Huh?"

Sanji brought his arm back down, staring at it as he moved it back and forth. _Didn't I dislocate this arm last night? _he wondered. Then he reached back up, feeling at his hair a bit more. _Are these… bandages?_

They were; in fact, as he continued to wake up, he realized it wasn't just on his head. While he had been sleeping, all his wounds from the last two weeks had been dressed in clean, crisp linen. He peered under the covers and choked, eyes bugging in horror. "Y-You gotta be _kidding_ _me_ –?!"

He clamped the covers back around his waist, his blood turning to ice water. He had also been stripped while he was unconscious.

All he was wearing was a pair of white silk boxers… which he did not recognize!

Sanji started to freak out. _I don't know what's worse, the sweets dress or this! _he screamed internally, clutching his head with both hands. _Who the hell did this?! How long have I been out?!_

A wave of dizziness washed over him.

The Strawhat cook swayed back against the pillows, groaning – properly reminded that he still wasn't fully recovered. _Oh, shit… my head…_

Suddenly, there was a clinking noise.

Sanji froze, ears burning.

…

…There! There it was again!

Someone was in this house with him… or some_thing_.

Sanji pushed the covers off him, placed his feet on the carpet, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as his abused legs – the muscles stiffened into one enormous mass of knots after running flat-out for almost two weeks straight – _screamed_ in protest. Teeth almost piercing his lip, the cook kneaded his calves and thighs like he would bread dough, then tried again. This time he could stand up. It hurt like _hell_. But he could stand up.

The curly-browed blonde took a few hobbling steps to the door, more falling into the wall than placing his back against it.

He peered suspiciously through the threshold. The hallway was a handsome thing, all honey-colored oak, white crown molding, and skylights in the ceiling. Rose-colored sunlight bathed tiny spots of color on the walls; miniature flowerboxes, set in a least a dozen little nooks cut into the clean white plaster. If Sanji wasn't so preoccupied with the pain in his legs and the possibility of an imminent threat, he might have admired the little blossoms. _Clink!_

The cook's eyes narrowed. As he thought – the sound of a spoon against a pan. And that smell in the air. Someone was cooking breakfast.

_They're preoccupied…_ Sanji thought to himself, creeping down the hallway. _ Finally, some luck! I'll take the bastard by surprise._

But what he saw when he reached the end made him stop and stare.

At the end of the hallway was a traditional Japanese foyer, leading straight up to a big conjoined space that included a sitting room, a small library, hearth, and a kitchen with a spacious, high ceiling and an enormous smoke-catcher above an ancient wood-burning stove; most likely to siphon the haze up through those three brick chimneys Sanji had seen earlier. The air smelled like wood smoke and roses and… eggs?

That's when Sanji spotted his "host."

A tall figure in a puffy pink bathrobe stood in front of the stove, scraping at the contents of a scarred frying pain and yawning occasionally. Its hair was long, thick, and luscious as black silk, but Sanji could tell from the breadth of the shoulders and skinniness of the hips that it wasn't a woman. That immediately set off the internal Okama-Klaxon – but as the man glanced around at the table set in the center of the floor, he realized with a shock that it was set for two.

He was being cooked breakfast, too?

Sanji peered suspiciously down at the plates… then glared at the creature's back and stalked across the floor, not even bothering to be quiet at this point. First binding his wounds, now cooking him breakfast? Didn't this creep get the memo from Ivankov?!

"_OI_!" Sanji yelled, roughly grabbing the figure's shoulder to yank him around. "Just what kind of trick are you trying to pull –?!"

Muscles jumped like a scalded cat. "_**KYAA**_!"

The frying pan came swinging around, hitting Sanji's temple solid. _BONG._

Unconsciousness was immediate.

"_Ahhh_! The eggs!" came a lilting wail as the cook folded to the ground like a piece of wet toilet paper, eyes spinning. "_GAHHH_! Darn it, I did it _again_! I'm sorry! S-So sorry! Are you –?! Aw _no_…"

**.oOo.**

Sanji bolted upright, throwing the covers off him in a panic – then immediately cringed and shielded his face when his pupils contracted painfully. _W-Where am I?! What –?!_

Dizziness smacked him like a tidal wave. _Oh shit… my head…_

He blinked hard, staring flatly at the wall of the bedroom. _Alright, getting a serious sense of déjà vu here, _he thought exasperatedly.

The Strawhat cook glanced out the window, wincing as he touched his newest wound – a sensitive goose egg on the side of his already pounding head – noticing that the sun was further away from the horizon than the first time he'd woke up.

Suddenly, a tinny ringing noise sounded in his ear.

Looking around for a source, Sanji saw that a jingle bell had been tied to his wrist.

He stared at it dubiously. _What am I, a cat?_

The blonde scooted around and placed his feet back on the carpet. His fingers worked at the complicated black strap. After a few minutes of frustration, sweat, and swearing, he finally got it loose; he yanked it off and carelessly tossed it to the ground, running both hands through his hair. "Sheesh…" he muttered.

Then, Sanji froze again.

…

…Was that a bump?

Under the _bed_…?!

The curly-browed cook practically backflipped to get his feet off the carpet, sinking and flailing a bit in the overly-fluffy mattress before he could get back to the edge. He looked under the bed.

For a second, he didn't see anything.

Then – all at once, big brown eyes flashed at him like a doe in headlights.

Sanji screamed in terror. "_**GAHHH**_!"

"_**KYAAA**_!" something screamed back.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

The hunkered shadow squirmed even further back, obviously just as scared of the pirate as the pirate was of him. "Th-This is my panic room…!" came the frightened answer.

"YOU'RE HIDING UNDER A FREAKIN' _BED_!" Sanji shrieked, officially freaked out. "AND WHO THE HELL _ARE_ _YOU_?! _WHAT_ ARE YOU?!"

A few seconds of tense silence followed his outburst.

The reply was slow in coming. But when it did – it came in the trembling, musical tenor of a hesitant young man. "M-My n-name is Hilaire…" he whispered. "I-I live here…"

**.**

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**A/N: It's certainly debatable but I think Hilaire is possibly the cutest thing since kittens. **

**Anyway, like I said in the summary, there is no yaoi to be found here! This fic is mainly rated for Sanji's language and a couple dirty-minded okamas in future chapters. Sorry if you came here hoping nonetheless, guys and gals. Since I'm writing this to let off steam with SOCCP, this fic will probably be rapidly updated. Ch2 will come within a day, I believe~!**

**Reviews in the meantime are much obliged. X3**


	2. The Aromatherapist, Hilaire

**One-day update! BOOYAH! This has never happened to me before~! But anyway, now we finally get to see what Hilaire looks like… and exactly **_**why**_** he's bothering to help Sanji.**

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**Chapter 2:**

**The Aromatherapist, Hilaire**

It was about noon, judging from the position of the blazing pink sun outside, and Sanji was wolfing down his breakfast like someone was going to snatch it from him. After two weeks with no food, even cold, slightly splattered scrambled eggs and jelly on toast tasted incredible. Even if he _was_ eating it wrapped in nothing but a bedsheet, some bandages, and a complete stranger's underwear.

The Strawhat cook grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and twisted the stem off like he would break a chicken's neck. Biting into it, he crunched away at the sweet fruit, shooting an incredulous glare over at his host who – instead of sitting at the table – was curled up in a corner with his head against the wall, like a child in time-out.

Sanji had obviously been expecting one of those middle-aged, craggy-faced, painted-on New Kama monstrosities that had been chasing him all over Momoiro. But once he'd finally dragged him out from under the bed, Hilaire was revealed to be a tall, lean young man in his late teens or early twenties. The only makeup he wore was a bit of eyeliner and peach eyeshadow, and with big, liquid brown doe eyes and a soft, vulnerable mouth, he was pretty for a male; if not for his dark black brows, broad shoulders, and sharp jaw, Hilaire might have actually been mistaken for a female. His midnight hair was already softer, longer, and shinier than most women's, tied with a pretty pink bow riding low at waist-level. Nonetheless, he _was_ wearing drag. A long, embroidered fuchsia kimono and soft leather slippers. But the thing that caught Sanji's attention was that his unnaturally elegant hands and feet were taped up like a kickboxer's, fighter's garb in high contrast with this shy… girly… downright _depressed_… persona.

"So, now that I'm awake, what're you planning to do with me? Huh?" he growled.

Hilaire seemed to flinch slightly, but remained silent.

"Call your friends?" Sanji continued, with a dark, threatening expression. "Maybe you have already. How long till they get here, bastard?"

No answer.

Not taking his eyes off the shifty raven, the blonde finished the apple – even eating the core – and pushed back from the table. _Screeech!_

Hilaire jumped. "I-I didn't poison anything, I swear!" he panicked to the wall.

"That's not what I asked!" Sanji barked, slamming his palm into the table. "What're you trying to pull here, being all Mr. Hospitality and then acting all guilty when I actually wake up?! I'm being chased by demons that are trying to take my manhood! I want _answers_! So you better quit screwing around with me and –!"

"I DIDN'T CALL ANYONE! NOBODY KNOWS YOU'RE HERE!"

The cook blinked, taken aback.

Hilaire buried his face in his skirt. "I-I d-didn't… call anyone…" he whispered quaveringly, as if the pirate could hear him better by repeating it at a lower volume. "N-Nobody… knows you're here…"

The blonde squinted distrustfully at the pink-clad man's back, as he curled up into an even tighter ball. "Ohhhh… I'm in _trouble_…!" the okama squeaked into his kimono. "They could cut my _hair_ off for this…!"

"Don't you mean 'head'?" Sanji said brusquely.

"…No, I meant hair…" Hilaire murmured, blushing bright red up to his ears. "T-That's the punishment for traitors…"

"Trai–?" the Strawhat gaped incredulously. He started to get up. "What are you going on abou– _**OW**_!"

Sanji all but fell back into the chair as his legs seized up, clenching his jaw harder than a vice to keep from screaming. "Sssshit!" he hissed, curling over his trembling limbs. "_Dammit_, that hurts! Ahh –!"

Turning his head ever so slightly, Hilaire aimed a fleeting look at his guest.

He bit his fingers nervously – conflicted for a second – then swallowed and got up. Sanji tensed, watching the okama closely for any funny moves; but all he did was dart wordlessly past him. His long black hair vanished down the hallway. _Where is __**he**__ going in such a hurry?_

The blonde didn't have to wait long.

A few moments later, Hilaire was back, holding something in his hands. He stopped before Sanji, hopped anxiously from one foot to the other in a moment of indecision, then hastily placed it on the table and retreated back to his corner.

_Sheesh, he's so skittish,_ Sanji thought to himself irritably.

He took a look at what Hilaire had brought him. _He's like some kind of scared bunny. It's kind of annoying._

Sitting on the tablecloth was a small jar, about the size of his fist and made of tinted purple glass; he saw it had been blown to resemble a flower bulb. A white-and-yellow ribbon was tied around the short neck. "What is this?" Sanji asked.

"I-It's for your legs?" Hilaire stammered at the wall. "It should help?"

"'_Should'_?" Sanji repeated.

After a moment of hesitation, he picked it up and unscrewed the lid, peering inside. It was some kind of suspicious clear jelly.

The blonde frowned at it – then cringed as his lower muscles gave a particularly painful wrench. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't have used it… but at this point, he doubted his legs could possibly feel any worse than they already did. Ignoring Hilaire's inquisitive brown eyes, Sanji groaned, stuck a finger inside, pulled out a glob of the stuff, and started rubbing it into his thigh.

The effect was astounding. It was as if the pain was being sucked right out of his muscles, all the way down to the deep tissues, relief even permeating his bones to leave a pleasant tingling ache. "This is _amazing_! Where the hell do you get this stuff?" Sanji demanded, hastening to rub down the rest of his legs.

"I-I make it."

"_Seriously_?! What do you _do_ for a living?!"

Hilaire ran his fingers nervously through his hair, eyes wide. "I-I make aromatherapy products…?"

"Aromatherapy?"

Sanji raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like, _perfume_?"

He sniffed at the jar. "Now that you mention it, this _does_ smell kinda flowery," he muttered incredulously. "What is this, daisies?"

"D-Daises and lilacs…" the dark-haired aromatherapist replied. He peered anxiously over his shoulder to see Sanji's calculating expression. "And not just perfumes, either… bath oils, ointments, creams. Lots of other things."

A beat passed.

Finally, the Strawhat cook sighed, but the satisfaction at the relief in his legs far outweighed his unhappiness at the fact that he now smelled like a girl. "Well, I guess there are worse vocations," he commented, screwing the lid back on and setting the jar down.

Sanji wrapped the bedsheet back around his body and leaned back, sighing in contentment at the pleasant tingling in his legs. "_That's_ certainly some damn good stuff."

Hilaire blinked, blushing in embarrassment. "Um, thank you…"

The blonde kept his eyes on the ceiling.

Slowly, he heard the dark-haired man start to shift, sliding at a snail's pace across the shiny oak floorboards towards the table. _Good_, Sanji thought. He was taking the bait. Talking to someone from across the room was difficult and socially awkward.

Big brown eyes poked above the table.

Then, hands folded around the jar. Hilaire slid into the other seat, staring at his ointment like it was going to catch on fire.

And what followed was perhaps what felt like the longest, most awkward silence in Sanji's life.

Finally, the Strawhat cook exhaled sharply, breaking the silence. "Look, I _guess_ I appreciate what you did – uh, Hilaire, was it? – but what exactly are you trying to do here?" the blonde asked, bracing his forearms on the table and squinting at this dark-haired benefactor. "I accept this isn't a trap. If you were smart enough to do that you would've sprung it by now, and you said yourself this was a traitorous act! So you got the memo from Ivankov."

Hilaire's eyes were boring a hole in the table. "Y-Yes…"

"The rules were…"

_**"Fine! I'll give you a chance!"**_

_** "A chance?"**_

_** Two weeks ago, back in the royal palace of the Kamabakka Queendom, Sanji stood before the purple-haired ruler of the drag queens himself; Emporio Ivankov, the Revolutionary. "I'll hand out ze recipes to ze 99 grand masters of New Kama Kempo on zis island. If vyou're a real pirate, get all ze recipes from zem!" the giant transvestite challenged him. "However! Every newkama on zis island vill try to put zis sweets dress on you day and night! I vonder if you can maintain your manhood…"**_

_** Shivers of fear and disgust rolled down Sanji's spine as the low voices of the newkamas echoed from the darkness. **_

"**Sanji-kun**_**~!"**_

_** "**_**We won't let you sleep**_**~!"**_

_** "The **_**sweets**_** dress!" crooned the atrocious Caroline, holding up that appalling, frilly pink garment. "I'll bring back the excitement of wearing skirts!"**_

_** "Sanji! It's nice to be girly~!" drawled the horrendous Elizabeth, blowing in his ear.**_

_** The blonde made an unprintable noise and scrambled backwards, only to find Ivankov's gloved finger pointed at his face. "YOU! VERSUS ZE HOME OF NEW KAMA KEMPO!" the Queen of the Newkamas bellowed. "If vyou can complete zis challenge, I vill give you a ship, too! You can have it all! Vhat do you say?"**_

Sanji pointed intently at Hilaire. "I accepted the challenge to get _ninety-nine_ Vital Recipes from the _ninety-nine_ Grand Masters of your crazy kempo, while 'every single newkama' on this island tries to dress me in frilly clothes!"

He shivered in revulsion. "_Uuugh_! Looking back on it, I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

Hilaire blinked. "Ahh…"

Then the okama squeaked and jumped when Sanji abruptly stood up, jabbing a finger at his face. "So, _why_?!" he demanded. "Why'd you put me in _boxers_, not bloomers?! Not that I'm complaining but _why_?"

Hilaire faltered under his scrutiny. "I-I…! I mean, th-that is –!"…!" he stammered. Then, he stopped himself.

He took a deep breath, then let it out…

And blurted before he lost his courage: "_It's the reason why this queendom exists_!"

Sanji blinked dumbly.

He hadn't been expecting _that_. "…_Hah_?"

Hilaire wrapped his long, slender digits around the ointment jar, seeming to draw some strength from its smooth purple glass. "I-I was there when you fought Carol-sama."

_**The dark-haired okama had been walking to his house on the way back from the florist's when he heard the commotion.**_

_** "**_**SO CUUUUTE**_**~!"**_

_** "SHUT UP! BE QUIET!"**_

_** Surprised, Hilaire straightened and turned, a hand on his wide-brimmed hat as he glanced toward the source of the noise. **_**I don't recognize that voice… **_**he thought, walking through the grass to peer over the crowd's shoulders. **_**Who is that?**

_** A golden-haired stranger stood across from Caroline – their stand-in queen while Ivan-sama was away – wearing makeup, heels, and the sweets dress. Hilaire recognized the pieces of the Momoiro Island's traditional conversion ceremony. It was the first thing that really caught his attention; this technique hadn't been used on a newcomer in years. He'd heard a couple rumors floating around in town that they had a mystery guest who was proving resistant to the island's natural conversion, but to think it had come to this? It had to be a strong man.**_

_** Quietly, as to not draw attention to himself, Hilaire edged shyly up behind one of the onlookers and stood on his tiptoes, trying to get a better look at the person.**_

_** "This is humiliating!" he heard him saying. "I'll finish this in one shot…! Then I'll finally leave this stupid island!"**_

_** "BEGIN!"**_

**Ding!**_** The bell rung.**_

"I-I expected the fight to be short…" Hilaire murmured. He shrugged privately to himself at the memory. "And… it _was_…"

Sanji's teeth ground against each other. "Do you _want_ me to kick your ass?"

"I-I'm sorry!" the okama apologized, flustered. "I have a point! I promise!"

"_Then make it, dammit_!"

"I will, I will!" Hilaire wavered, staring back at the floor. "S-See, um… since I'm a goods supplier, I-I like to keep track of a-any new… um… p-possible customers? A-And since you were the one that… forced them to take the sweets dress back out after all these years, I was interested and I sort of… ah… followed you."

Sanji leaned off the table a bit. "Yeah, _that's_ not creepy at all," the blonde muttered, yanking the bedsheet a little tighter around his body.

His sarcasm made a faint whistling sound as it flew over Hilaire's head.

The aromatherapist squeezed his ointment jar like a stress ball, brows furrowed over his soft doe eyes as he remembered. "But there was something different with your new self," he murmured. "It seemed… forced. There was a…"

Hilaire brushed his own brow vaguely. "Tic in your forehead. You were still resisting…"

He stared intently down at his jar – rubbing a nonexistent spot on the cap, still not meeting Sanji's eyes. "A-And then you did something… I've _never seen before_…!"

_**Hilaire delicately dipped his toes into the crystal surf, holding his kimono just above his ankle so it wouldn't get wet. The sea wind sent his long, dark hair rippling towards the rocks – where the blonde stranger was sitting, the hazy fuchsia sunset highlighting a sloppy, happy look on his heavily made-up face. **_

_** "Ah, what a beautiful sunset…" he murmured.**_

_**But still, that ever-present tic.**_

_**Hilaire was still staring at it when a sudden squawk made him jump. **_

_**He skittered away from the surf and flailed around a little bit in a panic before he noticed the News Coo flying overhead. The raven okama flushed pinker than the sunset and smoothed down his hair with embarrassment; meanwhile, the blonde okama accepted a newspaper from the transvestite bird and blew it a kiss. "Oh, bird-san! Thanks, sweeheart~!"**_

_** He opened it. "Oh, what's today's love horoscope –?"**_

_** Suddenly, Hilaire heard him choke.**_

_** The man in the sweets dress stared in horror down at the article… and suddenly, a transformation began to take place. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. **_

_** "What's wrong?" one of the other newkamas asked him sweetly.**_

_** Makeup dripped off. Fake eyelashes fell from their lids. **_

_** "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" he roared in the most unladylike voice Hilaire had ever heard.**_

_** He was too shocked to even catch the stranger's next words as he jumped to his feet, kicked off the heels, and bolted back towards the castle; if he had, he would have heard the man cursing the air blue about finding his suit and then getting a damn boat. **_

"You actually turned _back_…!"

Sanji was staring uncertainly at Hilaire now; his stutters and pauses were becoming further and further apart, as if the okama was forgetting Sanji was even there. "Then, you spoke to Ivan-sama…" the dark-haired man went on. "During that meeting in the throne room, when his Majesty was trying to decide who you were…?"

_** He had been sitting in the castle among the other residents of the Kamabakka Queendom – huddled in his outing scarf and hat and trying to keep his opinions to himself – while their newly returned ruler bantered back and forth with the blonde stranger, who apparently called himself Blackleg Sanji and claimed to be a member of the infamous bounty Strawhat Luffy's crew. Hilaire was personally a little concerned; the poor man was coughing up blood, after all. Who knew admitting a bounty poster was so hard? No matter how horrible it was…**_

_** "Dammit…" he groaned, collapsing to all fours.**_

_** In the front row, Elizabeth peered at one of his fellows. "Ah, it looks like his guard is down! Let's dress him up in the sweets dress~!" **_

_**Blackleg jumped back to his feet as if scalded. "NO WAY! I'LL NEVER WEAR IT AGAIN!" **_

"_**I am –!" the pirate announced, pointing a thumb to his own chest. "A true manly man who loves ladies!"**_

_**Meanwhile, in the back row, Hilaire blinked. **_**Such confidence…**_** he marveled, silently jealous.**_

_**Then, suddenly –!**_

_** "BOO, BOO!"**_

_** The dark-haired okama jumped. Slowly, he stared around him with wide eyes, his mouth agape – utterly appalled by the fact that every last New Kama was giving that confident, bold man before them a thumbs-down.**_

"You were standing up there, boldly declaring who you really were… and they were _booing_ you!"

Hilaire's mouth tightened into a grim line. "Ivan-sama says the whole point of our society is to embrace who you really are inside…" he whispered, visibly upset by the memory. "But if you were like all of us, you wouldn't have fought your way back! You _couldn't_ have! So, just because your true self is different than ours…"

He clenched his eyes shut. "It shouldn't mean we should force you to become something you're not _just to fit in_!" he blurted.

Hilaire gasped deeply.

Sanji stared at him as he panted hard, managing to refill his starved lungs. "…Did you really just say that entire last part in _one breath_?" he asked disbelievingly.

Reminding the shy aromatherapist that he was there was a mistake.

Hilaire froze up, staring straight ahead. Slowly, a bright ruby blush crept up his neck, face, and ears as he realized that he had just done an entire monologue in front of a complete stranger. He opened his mouth – and croaked like a frog.

After turning impossibly redder, he closed it, swallowed, and tried again.

"P-Plus, I-I…" the okama stammered. "I… _I-thought-you-could-help-me-with-something_!"

And he promptly hid behind his kimono sleeves.

Sanji didn't move for a second – he just stared. _He really is like a bunny!_ he thought, completely boggled by this guy's behavior.

Finally, the Strawhat cook sat back with a sigh, brows furrowed indecisively. _So, he admires my confidence? _he thought. He was still skeptical about the whole story. From what little he knew about this Hilaire guy, Sanji figured he was either the best actor in the world or the worst one; if the latter, he couldn't even imagine how far out of his comfort zone all this – finding a pirate in his bed, treating him, even feeding him while running the risk of being persecuted for treason, all because of some misplaced inspiration – had pushed such a tentative creature. If the former, it still seemed like too much effort to bother fixing him up when he could just call the other newkamas to run Sanji off. Either way, it was probably the best offer he was ever gonna get. Even so, the blonde might have refused just out of his (incredibly justifiable) homophobia… but with the feeling of his body dying from exhaustion still fresh in his mind, the offer of shelter – a safe place to eat and to sleep – was too good to be true. He figured Hilaire probably knew he couldn't refuse. There had to be a catch.

Sanji rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, giving a resigned sigh. _I can't __**believe**__ I am doing this!_ "All right. What do you want?" he groaned.

There was another short, awkward silence.

Hilaire made a weak noise of humiliation and sunk onto the table, still covering his burning face. "I-I'm in the final stage of Training for Married Life…" the okama confessed, voice muffled by his long silk sleeves. "Not even the 99 Grand Masters have done it yet! S-So… it's k-kind of a b-big step. But it… uh, um…"

His _hair_ was about to start turning pink. "Requires a '_seme_.'"

Sanji opened the front door and already had one foot outside. "HELL NO!"

"_W-WAIT_!"

The volume of Hilaire's cry blew Sanji head over heels into the yard. The blonde yelped in surprise and landed hard in the grass, tangled in the bedsheet like a fly in a spiderweb. "Are you softspoken or loudspoken?!" Sanji roared back at the raven, fighting to untangle himself. "Make up your mind, bunny bastard! And I ain't nobody's seme!"

"I didn't mean it like _that_!" Hilaire scrambled to say, following him outside and shutting the door. "I-I meant a _social_ seme! A masculine figure! Th-The final stage is to train in day-to-day communication! But as you might figure, there… there aren't that many p-people that can play the male on this island…"

"'_Social seme_?!'" Sanji repeated incredulously. "Who the hell refers to it like that?!"

"Could you just help me?!" Hilaire yelled at the door, blushing madly. "I'm not allowed to leave Momoiro until I finish this training, so I _can't_ find anyone else even if I tried! You're my only option! _Please_!"

Sanji strained one last time against the sheets – and finally collapsed against the ground. _Damn, what are these things frickin' made of?!_ he wondered, gasping for breath. _Cloth de titanium?!_

Both young men stayed in their respective positions for a few minutes, as the blonde struggled to catch his breath.

Once he'd had a chance to calm down, Sanji realized just how precarious his situation was. As pink and fragrant as Momoiro was, it was still very much a hostile island, filled with hostile natives trying to run him into the ground and rob him of his manhood when he finally couldn't run anymore. Here was a person offering him a solace – and although the cost of admittance was a little weird, he and Hilaire could benefit each other just by coexisting for a while. _It's not like I'm marrying the bastard, I guess… _Sanji thought grudgingly.

His fists clenched. _Dammit! You better be grateful for this, Luffy!_

"So, in exchange for eating and sleeping here, you want me to play _house_ with you for_ two years_?" the blonde reaffirmed.

Hilaire covered his face. "It sounds so embarrassing when you say it like that…!" he whined.

Sanji sat up on his elbows, glaring pointedly at his pink-clad counterpart. "I don't have to do anything funny with you?"

Hilaire shook his head frantically, mortified by the very thought.

"All I gotta do is act like a man?"

He nodded hastily.

The Strawhat cook made a thunderous face at him; he almost felt bad threatening such an already frightened-looking person, but he'd been through more than enough to want insurance. "And you do realize if you so much as try to put one pair of heels on me, I'll put my foot so far up your ass that you'll have tread marks on your tongue, right?" he growled.

Hilaire pressed his hands to his mouth without thinking. "I-It… sh-shouldn't come to _that_…"

"All right."

Sanji held up a handful of the bedsheet. "Now come help me out of this thing."

Hilaire blinked – then let out a soft "oh" and hurried over, kneeling on the grass beside him. "The first thing we gotta figure out is sleeping arrangements," Sanji muttered as they worked on getting him untangled. "'Cuz we're sure as _hell_ not sleeping in the same room!"

The aromatherapist avoided his eyes, still privately amazed the pirate had agreed. "I-I guess… y-you can have the couch then…?"

"Eh?! Don't you have some kind of guest room or something?!"

"I-I never have guests! It's n-not like… I planned this. And I've already been sleeping on the couch for five days while _you_ took _my_ bed…"

"I WAS UNCONSCIOUS FOR _FIVE DAYS_?! Why didn't you mention that earlier?!"

"S-Stop yelling! Y-You didn't ask!"

**.**

* * *

**A/N: I figured Ivankov is supposed to have some sort of Russian accent with that whole phonetic pattern his seiyuu performs? (I only watch subbed OP.) I gave it my best shot. And YES, Hilaire has a backstory! He's a rather multifaceted cutie, if I do say so myself. But it'll take a few more shorts for you to find out. ^_^**

**So, next question AKA next chappie! Where was Sanji getting his suits on Kamabakka, if everybody was trying to put him in dresses? X3**

_**(Have a question? Or perhaps a request of your own? Shoot me a review or PM! It may turn up as the next short!)**_


	3. A New Suit

**It's been a week and some change since my last update and I AM SORRY, I was busy beta-reading three different stories for two different authors. It's been hectic… but here's your compensation, my little fanfiction ducklings~!**

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

**A New Suit**

Twinging pain in his legs woke Sanji up.

He winced in his sleep, blinked – then groaned, rubbed his half-numb face, and sat up on the couch, feeling like he'd taken a fifth of tequila and an ass-kicking. After some debate the afternoon before (and a _lot_ of stammering), he and Hilaire had finally settled on an arrangement; the okama got his old room back, and the blonde got a section of the conjoined sitting-room to be screened off while he was using it. Insisting he do the damn cooking and hitting the couch for another sixteen hours in limbo; Sanji had to admit it wasn't terrible. It was infinitely better than nothing, certainly worth cooking for.

Still, he had to do something about this hangover-like pain. The Strawhat cook got up with a grimace and made the short hobble through the foyer and down the hallway to Hilaire's room.

He aimed a half-glance up at the skylight. Judging from the strength of the sun coming through, it was 7 o' clock in the morning; unless Hilaire had something to do, he was probably still asleep. "Yo!" Sanji muttered, carelessly throwing open the door. "You got any more of that ointment stuff –?"

"_**KYAA**_!"

A frying pan flew out of nowhere and hit him right between the eyes. _BONG!_

Sanji reeled – disoriented for a second – then smacked a hand over the damaged spot and roared at the shy okama. "IS THIS GONNA BE A REGULAR THING WITH YOU?!" he demanded. "AND WHAT THE HELL IS WITH THAT PAN?!"

A purple glass jar smelling of daisies and lupines bounced off his forehead. He caught it with a surprised noise. "Ah."

"There! N-Now get out!" Hilaire yelped, eyes spinning.

Sanji raised an eyebrow, glaring up at his timid housemate. "Fine, sheesh! No need to –!"

That was when he saw he'd walked in on the dark-haired man getting dressed.

The blonde staggered back into the hallway, his hand over his eyes and physically in pain. "_**MY EYES! IT BURNS!**_"

"**OUT**!"

_Slam!_

**...**

_Note to self_, Sanji thought, still feeling the urge to boil his eyeballs as he flipped a stack of hotcakes onto a platter. _Never open that door again._

He slid the plate onto the table, where the rest of a full three-course breakfast for two was laid out – four kinds of prepared eggs, hotcakes, assorted fruit salad, hash browns, stuffed French toast, biscuits, oatmeal, and a plate of jellies, syrups, and honey butter; he didn't know if the aromatherapist ate meat or not, so he just did what he could without it. _And even if he eats like a bird,_ Sanji thought, almost prancing as he eagerly set the table,_ I could eat all this by myself!_

The cook had just placed the last spoon just so when a musical male voice exclaimed behind him: "Uwahhh… it's so pretty~!"

Sanji glanced around to see Hilaire, marveling at the beautiful meal. He saw the crossdresser was wearing a powder-blue kimono with gold embroidery today, a matching blue bow tied at the tip of the long black braid down his back, and the same leather slippers and kickboxer wrappings on his feet and hands as yesterday; in the back of his mind, the cook wondered why he didn't take those off even in his own house.

While Hilaire was distracted, Sanji groaned silently. It was probably time to start holding up his end of the house agreement.

"Good morning!" he greeted grudgingly.

His housemate stiffened slightly.

Those enormous brown eyes stared at him. "G-Good… morning…" Hilaire whispered, looking at Sanji like the blonde was going to bite him.

The two men just looked at each other awkwardly for a minute.

Finally, Sanji cursed quietly and plunked down in a chair. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he snapped, grabbing his napkin. "Because I'm sure as hell not calling you 'honey!'"

"Y-Yes! I mean no. I mean –! Um, thank you for the food…"

"Just_ sit_, you damn bunny bastard!"

Hilaire blinked, taken aback by the name-calling, but obeyed nonetheless. He placed his palms together and pressed them against his forehead. "Itadakimasu…" the softspoken male murmured, the traditional Japanese saying before a meal, then picked up his fork and took a bite.

Suddenly, he froze mid-chew.

Mouth slightly agape, Hilaire delicately placed his fork back on the plate and placed a hand over his lips.

"What?" Sanji demanded, pouring syrup on his hotcakes. "My cooking ain't good enough for you?"

The dark-haired man's eyes went wide at the table. He swallowed so quickly he almost coughed. "N-Not at all!" he protested when his mouth was empty. "I-I mean… it's _delicious_. I just wanted to… savor it?"

Sanji blinked, his mouth full.

Hilaire glanced over hesitantly, a hand still over his mouth. "Is that wrong…?"

The blonde squinted uncertainly at him – causing the raven okama to turn crimson and scramble to look down – then decided he was being serious and swallowed his mouthful. "No, not at all," he replied. He took another bite, curly brows slightly raised in surprise. "It's just that the guys on my crew never savor. All they do is run in, shovel it down, and run right back out! Especially my captain."

"C-Captain?" Hilaire repeated. He tried a bite of toast and jam. _Crunch_. "You mean… um, Strawhat Luffy?"

"That's the one! Shitty ungrateful rubber bastard, that one!"

Surprisingly, after that the conversation flowed relatively smoothly. Sanji figured out quickly that as long as you didn't look at him or put him on the spot, Hilaire was a pretty easy person to talk with. He asked good questions, was an even better listener, and seemed genuinely curious about life aboard the Strawhat's pirate ship. Also, any illusions about the okama eating lightly were quickly destroyed; although he consumed food slowly, with nearly perfect table manners – again, an involuntary shock for Sanji, since sailing with Luffy required one to eat at a breakneck pace just to get your fair share – he ate just as much as Sanji did, whose meals had consisted of next to nothing for about two weeks straight. He seemed to honestly enjoy everything, too, making little noises of contentment when he bit into the stuffed French toast or finished off the platter of sunny-side-up eggs.

In the end, they polished off breakfast about an hour later. Sanji scooted back from the table with a satisfied sigh. Hilaire clapped his hands together again: "Gochisousama deshita…" he murmured, the traditional Japanese saying when finishing a meal, and stood up.

Sanji was about to get up, too – he usually ended up the one to clear the table back on the Sunny – but stopped when he saw Hilaire was collecting the plates and bringing them to the sink.

_What…? Oh, right,_ the blonde man remembered. He sat back down. _That whole 'Training for Married Life' shit. _

He aimed a look over his shoulder. Hilaire had put on some rubber gloves _over_ those kickboxer wrappings to do the dishes, rolled up his sleeves, and was scrubbing away with a focused look on his face. _Hard to believe he views this as training… _

Then he reconsidered. _But come to think of it, this might actually be a little difficult, _Sanji thought, scowling at the okama's back. _Considering you can't even _look_ at the guy without him cringing away like you're some kind of damn serial killer!_

As if on cue, the blue-clad okama seemed to sense Sanji's glare.

Hilaire looked around, saw the pirate squinting at him – then paused to turn a shameful pink before going back to the dishes, a little slower than before. As if there was some kind of weight on his shoulders.

The cook found himself grinding his teeth. _It's annoying! I haven't kicked him or nothing, but he's still acting like this! I even told him about the Sunny! Geez, it almost makes me wanna give him a good _reason_ to be scared! Damn bunny bastard._

He shivered at the cold ridges of the chair against his back. "Damn… I gotta do something about this!" he muttered.

"'This?'" Hilaire repeated uncertainly. "W-What do you mean…?"

"What do you _mean_ what do I mean?!" Sanji snapped. He made a gesture at his current state of dress; that was, not much. "I've been walking around in nothing but boxers for two days, in case you didn't _notice_!"

The dark-haired man jumped. "Ah, I-I'm sorry! I guess I forgot…"

"_DON'T FORGET STUFF LIKE_ _THAT_!"

Sanji huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Not to mention these boxers aren't even mine! You perverted bastard!" he went on. "Where are the clothes I arrived in?! I want to get dressed!"

There was a brief pause.

Then, Hilaire turned back to the dishes – blushing in a bit of distress. "Um, well…"

He rung out the dishcloth, dribbling soapy water down the drain. "Y-Your clothes were in such bad condition that… uh… the dirt was the only thing keeping them together…" the okama murmured. "When I tried to wash them th-they just… um… fell apart?"

Sanji's jaw dropped. "WHAT?! My underwear, too?!"

"Y-Your underwear, too…"

He made a vague gesture with the dishcloth. "S-So I made those for you real quick." _I didn't want him wearing my underwear, either! That's disgusting! And I don't even wear boxers…_

The blonde's brows shot up. "Ehh?"

He stretched out the waistband; he couldn't even see the stitches. _Wow. I thought these were store-bought or something._

After a moment, Sanji just shrugged internally and let it snap back. "Well, thanks I guess," he said crossly. He shot a pointed glance at the other man. "But do you have any pants or shirts I can wear?"

Hilaire pulled off his gloves self-consciously. "I-I guess you can take a look…"

**…**

A couple minutes later, Sanji was staring into a crossdresser's closet.

Unnerved, the cook shrunk back at first from the sparkly pheromones that wafted off the racks of clothes, but finally just grit his teeth and dove in, rummaging around for something – _anything_ – a straight man could possibly wear.

"I'm sorry there's so much pink…?" Hilaire apologized uncertainly from his place on the bed. He had a pile of sewing in his lap, but seemed too unnerved by Sanji's presence to actually start working on it.

The Strawhat cook pushed past the kimono rack, brows furrowed intently. "Pink is just a color. It's what style it's in that's the problem – ah! Pants!"

He had finally spotted a pair at the bottom of the closet. Sanji crouched to pick them up: "Phew! Finally I find something that –!"

Then he stared at them flatly.

"…Hilaire?"

The okama blinked. "Y-Yes?"

"These are women's slacks."

Puzzled, Hilaire cocked his head at Sanji. "Y-Yes…?"

"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH WOMEN'S SLACKS?!" Sanji roared, waving the garment around in the air.

Hilaire held up his sewing over his face to hide from the pirate's anger. "Couldn't y-you j-just wear them?!" he yelped. "What's the difference between men's and women's slacks, anyway?!"

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?! But there's gotta be if they're called women's slacks, dammit!"

Sanji threw the pants back in the closet and sat down on the floor, scratching his head in frustration. "Shit! _Now_ what am I gonna do?" he groaned. "I can't go back out there in nothing but underwear! It's –!"

"_**I accept… the challenge!"**_

Sanjipaused.

**I'm not gonna lose either, Luffy!**

The cook of the Strawhat Pirates inhaled slowly – then exhaled, and stood up. "I guess it can't be helped," he muttered grudgingly, trudging toward the door in nothing but those boxers. His legs still felt a little stiff. "I'll give myself one more day to recover, but I've already wasted too much time. I've already been here for over two weeks and I haven't gotten so much as a single shitty recipe! I have to get moving."

Hilaire gaped after him. "W-Wait just a second!" he stammered, bouncing anxiously forward on the mattress. "Y-You can't fight like that! As long as you just cover up –? Does it r-really… m-matter what kind of clothes you wear?!"

"I refuse to wear _those_ kinds of clothes."

The words came out sharper than he intended.

Hilaire stiffened.

Then his face fell. "…I'm sorry..."

His fingers clenched around his sewing. "It's weird… isn't it?" the okama murmured, his voice surprisingly steady. "Isn't that what you wanna say?"

"Don't put words in my mouth!" Sanji ordered crossly.

Hilaire recoiled as if scalded; the blonde sighed in frustration. _Great, I scared him again. _"Look, it's nothing against you, seriously," he told him, scratching his head. "To each his own and all that shit. Just because it doesn't work for me doesn't mean it shouldn't for you. But if I give an inch, this place will take a mile from me… and then _all_ of me. To stop that from happening –!"

He sucked in a breath.

Hilaire blinked. _Huh?_

"I'LL FIGHT AND TAKE THOSE VITAL RECIPES _BUCK-ASS_ _**NAKED**_ IF I HAVE TO!" Sanji yelled with finality.

Big brown eyes widened at his bold declaration.

"…It's all for your crew…"

"Hah?"

Sanji turned towards Hilaire, whose head was bowed – his long, dark hair obscuring his expression. "Your nakama, right?" he murmured. "You're doing all this all for them…?"

"Who else would I be doing it for?" the pirate replied bluntly, although privately, he was surprised that the shy okama had actually said something.

"They must be really nice nakama…"

Sanji raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if 'nice' is the right word, exactly," he responded, peering curiously at him. "But where's this coming from all of a sudden?"

Hilaire didn't answer for a minute.

Finally, his intent chocolate eyes slid over to another fist-sized jar – this one made of red glass and blown to look like a rosebud. He picked it up, shifted off his pillowy bed with the ease of practice, and approached Sanji with deliberate steps. The blonde blinked, almost taking a step back in shock… but suddenly, the jar was raised to his face.

It was Sanji's turn to stammer. "E-Eh?"

Hilaire's expression was still obscured, gazing at the floor. "You used up the other jar already, right…?"

Startled, Sanji accepted it without thinking. "U-Uh, yeah. Thanks?"

The dark-haired man rolled up his sleeves, still not looking up. "You're welcome," he acknowledged. "I would like to get through this door… please move?"

"Uh, sure?"

He took a step to the side. Hilaire sidled past the blonde, muttering indecipherably to himself as he padded down the hall, opened the door, stepped outside, then closed it. Click.

The Strawhat cook slowly eased his head out the bedroom door, staring after the okama like he had sprouted a second head.

"What's with _that_?" Sanji muttered to himself. "Shy, then talkative, then shy again, then spineless, then grows balls at the _weirdest_ moment! I just can't get a read on that bastard, can I?"

Outside, Hilaire pattered down the stairs and tromped across the yard, past his gardens, through the grass and afternoon sunshine… to a medium-sized shed on the edge of the trees. It was maybe a third the largeness of his house – but like his house, it always seemed bigger inside than outside. He pushed open the double doors, stepped inside, and clicked them shut.

He pulled the bolt out of habit. _Snap._

That done, Hilaire tossed his sideswept bangs out of his eyes – revealing a determined, if slightly humbled expression as he tromped through the dimly-lit shed, to the basket for dead cloth that he kept in the far corner.

The aromatherapist thrust a hand in and plucked a pile of rags off the top.

Then he reached into his kimono sleeve… and pulled out Rayleigh's vivre card.

He raised the object he'd found in this ruined jacket to his eyes. _I can only assume this belongs to Blackleg-sama. But he hasn't asked for it yet, so I'll just keep it till then._

Hilaire bit his lip, sucking on it broodingly as he examined the remains of Blackleg's old suit in his other hand. _Still, as I thought, these are beyond saving_.

He let them slip through his fingers back into the scrap basket. _Plop._ The young man tucked the vivre card back into his kimono, braced his hands on the woven rim, and drummed his fingers as he kept thinking. Finally, his eyes landed on a bolt of nice black cloth in the corner that he'd been saving.

Hilaire raised his eyebrows at it. _Maybe I can manage something simple._

**.oOo.**

Sanji didn't see his housemate until he served lunch almost three hours later.

It was rather abrupt, too; he called out that food was ready, and all at once Hilaire had darted out from a shed on the edge of the clearing, run to the table, said his "Itadakimasu," then – before Sanji had even sat down – grabbed the plate of rolls, a jar of strawberry jam, told him to call when he was done, and bolted back outside. Although confused, the Strawhat cook ate until he was full. He considered just doing the plates himself, but obeyed and just called Hilaire. Once more, the okama raced out and washed all the dishes in a hurricane of activity.

Once he was done, Hilaire whirled and was about to flee back out the door… when suddenly he skidded to a stop. He sucked in a breath, about-faced, and bowed at the waist.

"_GOCHISOUSAMA DESHITA_!" the aromatherapist yelled, causing an already-frightened Sanji to leap bodily out of his chair and sprawl to the floor. He didn't even pause to apologize or ask if he was all right – he just completed his turn and was gone in a blur of powder blue silk and black hair.

Sanji smacked himself in the head, completely boggled by his behavior. "The _hell_ –?!"

And six hours later…

Dinner was exactly the same way.

Late that night, Sanji was wondering if the stress of having a stranger sharing his living space had made the bunny bastard snap and go insane. _Well, tomorrow I'm heading back into the fray,_ he thought, resignedly sinking into his stretches before bed. _My legs feel good as new! And hopefully that guy will get some time to recover while I'm gone._

With that thought in mind, the Strawhat cook sprawled out on the couch, pulled a blanket over himself, and went to sleep. _Ugh… tomorrow's gonna be hell…!_

His nightmares were filled with transvestites laughing at him in his underwear.

The sky was just lightening in the east when a bedraggled figure padded quietly back into the house, placed a pile of fabric next to Sanji's couch, and staggered down the hall – yawning so wide he could have put a hole in the ozone layer.

**.oOo.**

**THE NEXT MORNING…**

"S-Stop it… don't… no… _IT'S GOT ME_!"

Sanji gasped and sat up, drenched in cold sweat. "I –! Wha –?!" he gasped. He shot a quick glance around.

Mid-morning sunlight streamed in through the windows.

The cook sighed in resignation and collapsed back against the pillows, trying to rub the sleep from his face. He took in a bracing breath – then grunted decisively and sat up. _It's time…_

His foot touched something.

Sanji started. "Hm?"

He looked down.

Folded neatly at his feet was a _suit_.

Sanji stared at it wide-eyed for a long minute… scared that if he blinked, it would disappear. But when it didn't, he sprung on it like a puppy on its first meal of the day. His face lit up like the sun as he grabbed it up, feeling the springy black cloth of the jacket and pants, the crisp one of the mint green dress shirt, and the silky one of the white-and-blue striped tie. It was a perfect replica of the one Sanji had been wearing since Sabaody! Well, not perfect, since – as a seasoned buyer of suits – the cook could tell these garments were made of nicer material and higher quality stitching. Like… custom! "_Haaah_?!"

He excitedly jumped into the pants and zipped them up. "Did the clothes fairy come during the night or something?!" Sanji exclaimed. He put his feet into the hard black shoes next to him and laced them up, jumping to his feet. "Ah, who cares?! Now I don't have to face those monsters naked!"

Fully dressed, the cook flipped his hair – practically sparkling. "I feel classy as hell," he purred to himself.

Hilaire emerged from the hallway with a basket of laundry. "Ohh, good," the okama yawned. "It fits."

Sanji turned to look at him. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of the bedraggled aromatherapist; Hilaire's normally tidy, silky midnight hair was loose and frizzing around his shoulders, and his eyes were half-lidded and hazy, like he'd stayed up all night.

"Wow, you look terrible."

"Gee, thanks…" the okama muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"Hah? What was that?"

Hilaire shrunk into his skin a little bit, his big doe eyes staring sulkily at Sanji. "Nothing…" he lied. The raven-haired man shifted his laundry basket to one hip to cover another yawn; when he was sleep-deprived, grouchiness tended to trump shyness. "Ungrateful… I'm sure I did it better than anything _you_ could have done…"

"What's that supposed to mean, 'anything I could have done?!'" the cook snapped.

Hilaire blinked, seeming genuinely surprise. "Y-You mean you can't make your own clothes?"

"The most sewing I can do is stitch a button back onto my jacket!"

The okama's jaw dropped in disbelief. "_Whaaaaa_…?!"

"QUIT LOOKING AT ME LIKE SOME KIND OF EXOTIC ANIMAL!" Sanji snarled peevishly. "Most men can't even do _that_!"

Hilaire squeaked and jumped back, holding his laundry to hide his face. "UWAH! I apologize!"

Sanji stepped quickly across the room, stopping right before his housemate. "And you are a shitty liar! Custom suits like this take professional tailors more than two weeks to make! And you're telling me you made this in _one night_?!"

"Y-Y-Yes…? N-No…?!"

"MAKE UP YOUR MIND!"

"I did, I did! I-I guessed at the m-measurements… it w-was a rush job… and I've never made men's clothing before!" the okama whimpered defensively. "S-So it's not my best work but it should suffice!"

He peered over the top of the laundry basket, big brown eyes searching for approval in Sanji's disbelieving blue ones. "It… _should_ suffice… right?"

The Strawhat cook glared uncertainly at Hilaire for a second – then backed off. "It'll do more than suffice!" he replied sternly, brushing off the sleeves of his new suit and fixing his tie. "It's better than my old one. Normally I don't like owing favors to people, especially guys! But I owe you one for this."

Slowly, Hilaire lowered the basket. "I-It's all right," he murmured, avoiding his eyes with a blush. "I… It's not like I did it so you could owe me…"

Sanji already had one arm out of the jacket. "_Take it back_."

"KEEP IT ON!" Hilaire yelled, eyes clenched shut. "I just don't want a fully grown man wandering around in these woods in nothing but his boxers! No matter how confident you are that's _creepy_, you _weirdo_!"

"…Oh."

Sanji grimaced in disgust. "Wow, I didn't think of it that way."

Hilaire pouted. "Plus… appearances are important!" he blurted hesitantly, bowing his head. "If you're doing this for such great nakama, you should look good when you're fighting for them. Be a good representative. A-And since you can't make your own clothes…"

He sighed quietly. "I-I guess I can help you do that. I'll start on another one today while you're gone…"

Sanji raised his eyebrows. "Eh? But don't you have household chores to do?"

"It's okay, I can do it!"

Adding onto the cook's never-ending list of surprises, Hilaire looked straight up into Sanji's eyes – a determined gleam in his gaze. He actually managed to hold it for a moment; then panicked and stared at the wall instead. "I-It's just the laundry on my list today. And I… w-well, I-I like to keep busy!"

The blonde man hesitated, then shrugged to himself. "Well, I guess that's fine, then?" he muttered. "Uh, thanks?"

Hilaire nodded at the ceiling. "You're welcome."

Suddenly, he remembered what he was carrying.

The dark-haired okama gasped in horror, turning redder than a boiled lobster.

He kicked Sanji's ankle viciously. _WHACK!_ "OW!" the blonde roared. He grabbed his foot, hopping around like a bunny rabbit. "WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!"

"Y-Y-You said you were going, weren't you?!" Hilaire demanded, hands tightening protectively around his basket. Steam rose from his scarlet face. "Go… uh… kick butt! I'll see you when you get back!"

Sanji ground his teeth. "Are you freakin' PMSing or something?!"

He hissed and limped toward the entrance. "Fine, fine!" he muttered. "I'm leaving now."

"HAVE A SAFE TRIP!" Hilaire shrieked.

The door slammed shut.

The disheveled aromatherapist sighed in relief and slid to the ground – pale as a sheet. _Thank goodness…_ he thought, reaching into his load of clean laundry. After all, there had been a reason why he'd had to make boxers for the masculine blonde pirate.

Hilaire pulled out one of his tiny thongs and stretched it out. _ I think I would have __**died**__ if Blackleg-sama saw these…!_

But it was at that precise moment – with no warning whatsoever – that Sanji slammed the door back open and stormed inside. "I forgot my cigarettes!" he yelled.

And then he saw it.

Sanji turned to stone. "_Kuh_…!"

Hilaire's jaw dropped, frozen in his position. "_Eh_?"

Something went nuclear. "_**GYAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! MY EYES! IT BURNS!**_"

"_**OUT**_!"

_Slam._

**.**

* * *

**A/N: I kind of both hated and loved myself for this. XD**


End file.
